


February HC_Bingo Challenge: Missing Pieces.

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Injury, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, POV Castiel, Touch-Starved, emaciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:25:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Dean goes missing, Sam goes a little crazy, Castiel goes to Hell and back, and Crowley just goes along for the ride.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Many MANY thanks to my as always wonderful and thoughtful beta, jj1564 who just *gets* me and my Muse ♥ To the_rant_girl and stir_of_echoes, you girls always keep me on the straight and narrow :D or the kinky and wide ;) when I decided to sign on for the hc_bingo amnesty card I did *not* think there were 10k’s worth of words in my head. And especially not from Castiel’s POV but believe me when I say it kinda just fell out of my brain. Anyway, for anyone who’s reticent about reading a Cas POV piece, give it a chance, it’s *ALL* about Sam and Dean, just through their best friends’ eyes. I may have fallen way back in love with Cas! Card prompts: Wild Card - Accept Injury to Protect Someone. Touch-Starved. Loss of Voice. Secret Identity Discovered. I think I covered the 500 word minimum, don't you? ;)

Castiel ducks out the way of flying bits of furniture as Sam destroys yet more priceless pieces of the Bunker's decor. The last time he got in the way of the youngest Winchester's rage he ended up with a black eye and broken nose. For a mere human, Sam's got some strength when he's angry.

The second you put Dean in danger then all bets are most definitely off.

"Six weeks Cas, _six_ **weeks**. Where is he?! He wouldn't just disappear, not without good reason and I swear Rowena knows something, but she's refusing to even see me."

Castiel steps up behind Sam and lays what he hopes is a calming hand upon his friend's shoulder. "I do not know, Sam, but he has to be out there, somewhere. We will keep looking. We will hound the witch until she allows us an audience."

Sam's shoulders sag and his chin hits his chest. The defeat he feels is rolling off of him in waves and it's disorientating for the Angel who's always been highly attuned to his charges' emotions.

With Sam feeling this level of pain there's an electrical charge surrounding the room, it cracks a whip against the base of Castiel's skull every time Sam sighs audibly and he's developing a permanent headache because of it.

" _Allow_ us an audience. **Fuck**. We should've ganked that bitch years ago."

The complete desolation in Sam's voice tugs against Castiel's own sense of guilt for not being able to locate Dean. If he can't sense him, and Dean isn't able to pray to him, then where in the hell is he? He's got to be warded otherwise the Angel would have found him long ago.

For Sam's sake he hopes Dean's still relatively in one piece.

Finding Dean in any other state than mostly whole will tip Sam over the razor's edge he's been tiptoeing along for the last six weeks. "I will be back. Wait here. Do not leave without contacting me, okay?"

"Where you going? If you're headed for Rowena, I want in."

Castiel braces for the reaction he's about to garner. "Not Rowena. Mary."

Sam's head snaps up, his eyes sparking the kind of fury Castiel's only ever seen pointed at those who lay hands on his family.

"No."

"But -"

" **No**. She wanted out, she's out. I can't deal with that crap _and_ find Dean. I will not drag her back only to have to tell her I lost her oldest son."

Castiel's heart breaks for the anguish behind Sam's words. "You did not lose -"

"Enough. No. That's final."

For the first time in a very long time, Castiel loses his temper with Sam. "And exactly _how_ are we meant to achieve the retrieval of your brother if you will not let me ask anyone for assistance? We are only two people, we need **_help_**."

The stubborn streak Sam's been harbouring for the last god knows how many years is warring with his sense of shame at not being able to find Dean, and Castiel instantly regrets the harshness of his tone. "Look, you are not the only one feeling his loss, Sam. We have an index of Hunters we could ask for help but your refusal to allow me to reach out is hampering my ability to do anything useful. What exactly _do_ you want me to do?"

Sam clearly doesn't know what he wants to do, what he wants Castiel to do. All he really wants is his brother back. The void Dean's disappearance has created is being filled with the lack of humanity that both brothers suffer when either one is removed from the equation.

Usually the sensible one, the one with the more level head, Sam's starting to unravel without Dean there for him to play devil's advocate against.

"Just, not Mom, okay? Not yet." Sam sighs and scrapes bitten ragged nails through his unkempt hair. "Try Crowley."

"Finally."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smugness with which Crowley greets Castiel makes the Angel want to smite first and ask questions later, but he's in no position to burn their only viable bridge.

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Castiel ignores the smarmy look on the Demon's face and lowers himself into the seat opposite.

"Hey Feathers. Long time no annoy. What do Moose and Squirrel need this time?"

Rolling his eyes, Castiel takes a deep calming breath. "Crowley, for once could you please not be a complete douche?"

Crowley's eyebrows hit his lack of hair line. "You've been spending far too much time with the Winchesters, you know that, don't you?"

"Dean's missing."

For all the former King of Hell's bravado and bluster, there is a connection between him and the Winchester boys. He may not like to admit it but Castiel can see it in the thinning of his lips and narrowing of his eyes.

"How long?"

"Six weeks."

Crowley does his best to cover it over, but there's a distinct hitch in his voice as he leans forward and waves a finger in Castiel's face. "And you're just coming to me _now_?"

Castiel's loath to admit any kind of weakness or deficiency in Sam's logic in front of Crowley, it's a piece of ammunition he doesn't need the Demon having, but he's inclined to agree. "Sam did not want anyone else involved. He thought the British chapter of the Men of Letters might be involved and he does not know who he can trust."

Crowley's small lip twitch isn't lost on Castiel, but he chooses not to acknowledge it.

"And he's choosing to trust me? Wonders will never cease. I should play the lottery tonight."

Castiel leans back in his chair so as not to head butt the Demon now smugly fiddling with his collar in front of him. " _Crowley_. Enough. Can you help?"

"The King of Hell to the rescue, again."

" _Former_."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The warding alarms go off in the Bunker as Castiel pops into existence, dragging a slightly green around the gills Crowley behind him. "Stop complaining. You _blink_ constantly, how is this any different?"

Crowley shakes loose from Castiel's grasp and throws himself into the only un-upturned seat in the room. "Angel travel is slightly different to Demon travel, jack arse. My insides feel like soup."

Castiel does nothing to hide the satisfied smile on his face before waving a hand in the general direction of the alarm panel. "You cannot get in here on your own, I had to zap you in. _Sorry_ "

" 'Course you are. So, where is he, where's Moose?"

Castiel scans the empty room with a mounting feeling of worry coursing along his veins. "No clue. **Sam**."

The sound of an elephant trouncing through the Bunker is swiftly followed by a dishevelled Sam emerging from the kitchen carrying a crystal tumbler so full of whisky it's sloshing down his shirt. "S'up Cas, see we've got company. Watcha Crowley, defiled any virgins lately?"

Sam is clearly three sheets to the wind and Castiel wonders exactly how much of his brother's personality he's been adopting for the last thirty years. "I was not even gone that long, how are you drunk?"

Sam snorts in a derisive tone before raising his glass to the room. "Perseverance."

"Moose, Moose, Moose, what are we gonna do with y - "

The speed with which Sam's suddenly standing if front of Crowley is almost superhuman.

Castiel doesn't have time to step between the two of them before Sam's brandishing Ruby's knife; pressing it tight against Crowley's exposed throat.

"Sorry, what? Did you have something to say? I _dare_ you."

Crowley hisses as Sam puts just enough pressure against the blade for it to slice a thin clean line in the flesh beneath it.

Castiel sees a spark of something very Demon bubbling up behind Crowley's eyes but the ex King of Hell can't do a damned thing to stop Sam, not if he doesn't want his head cut clean off.

Castiel steps quietly and slowly forward. " _Sam_ , no."

The rage Sam is drowning in causes his hand to shake, just the smallest of tremors, but it's enough to have Crowley wincing. Reaching out, Castiel slides his fingers around Sam's wrist and pulls backwards. "Let him go, we need him. Once we have Dean back you can take him apart piece by piece if you wish, but for now, let him _go_."

Castiel's met with resistance as Sam's face twists into a mask of hatred directed straight at Crowley, who's clearly fallen into the trap of forgetting just how terrifying the youngest Winchester can be when Dean's in danger.

The room begins to shake, overturned pieces of furniture start to rattle and come apart, and Castiel can feel the power flowing from that place inside Sam which has been mostly dormant for a very long time. "Sam, please."

It's as if a switch has been flicked in Sam's head and he blinks before his arm starts to shudder in Castiel's hand. As fast as the feeling of imminent death comes, it dissipates and the Angel is left holding up a ratty Hunter with no place left to sink.

The lack of breath Crowley's been holding is let loose in one swift harsh gust as Sam finally allows Castiel to pull him backwards.

Still sitting in his chair, Crowley's face is drained of all colour and Castiel can see the effort it takes to uncurl his fingers which have formed talons against creaking wood.

Crowley opens his mouth and Castiel shoots him a warning glare before pushing Sam across the room and forcing him to sit on the steps leading out of the library. "Sam, look at me."

Castiel doesn't know what exactly he's expecting to see in Sam's eyes but the fear swimming behind them is not it. It's then that he realises just how far gone Sam is without Dean to keep him tethered.

Sam's powers haven't shown themselves for a very long time, if they're resurfacing now it's because he's losing his grip on all things calm and collected. They're a direct result of his worry for his brother.

"Cas, help."

The exchange is swift and quiet but Castiel knows Crowley won't have missed the desperation in Sam's voice, and he's absolutely sure he's going to have to threaten the Demon with death and dismemberment in order for him not to try and use the situation to his advantage.

"Just, sit and rest. We will figure it out, okay?"

Walking backwards away from Sam, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the Hunter, Castiel tries his hardest not to show any of the terror beating behind his own ribs. "Crowley, if you have anything that would help with locating Dean, now would be a _good_ time to show your hand, do you not think?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Damn it, Sam, slow down."

For all his threats and cajoling there isn't a single thing Castiel can do to stop Sam running full tilt at the warehouse they suspect Dean's being kept in.

Not that Castiel blames Sam, if it were his brother...

There are very few human connections that run as deep as those between the heavenly garrisons but Sam and Dean are amongst the handful of people ever born who could possibly measure up.

"He's in there, I can feel it, him. Don't ask me how I just _know_."

Crowley hangs back; leaning against Castiel's pimpmobile, arms crossed, eyes rolling. "Moose, if Squirrel _is_ in there and it's taken all three of us to find him, don't you think we should wait and see if we're going to get captured before we bollocks up this highly unorganised rescue attempt?"

The growl Sam throws back over his shoulder tells both Crowley and Castiel everything they need to know.

Sighing exaggeratedly, Crowley peels himself away from the car. "Okay then, apparently not. Saddle up boys, this could get messy."

There's no huge world domination plot surrounding Dean's disappearance. There is, however, two decades worth of hatred and resentment in the monster community. Turns out there's been a fast growing group of mixed lineage beasts all gunning for the Winchesters.

Who knew creepy crawling nasties could be so organised?

"Sam, _stop_. As much as I hate admitting it, Crowley is right. We need a plan."

Sam curls his fingers around the wire mesh fencing surrounding the giant warehouse looming out of the dusk in front of them. "Fine, what? We can't know how many are in there, or even _what_ they are. Unless someone wants to throw Crowley in there and hope they don't decapitate him straight off the bat."

The appeal in that plan isn't lost on Castiel, or Crowley for that matter, judging by the string of expletives he's mumbling beneath his breath. "Fuck _off_. All or nothing boys, I'm not letting my very fine arse hang out in thin air alone."

For the first time in months Castiel sees a proper smirk blossom on Sam's lips and he's grateful to the Demon if only for the distraction from the heavy heart Sam's nurturing.

"I do not think there's any warding against Angels, what about you Crowley? Demon expelling sigils?"

"None that I can sense.”

“I don’t understand, if he’s not warded how come it took _two_ of you this long to find him?”

Castiel doesn’t bite, simply lays a hand on Sam’s shoulder and sighs. “He is not warded _now_. They probably think he is no longer being searched for, given up for dead.”

Sam’s teeth grind together so hard Castiel can hear enamel chipping way.

Crowley coughs and wafts his hands at the building, breaking some of the tension. “Look, maybe Gigantor's right, just run in head first and hope for the best. It's not like we've ever really been on the side of sensible when it comes to this shit."

Sam snorts and nods before starting to pull out various sharpened and deadly looking weapons from every pocket, pouch and place he could have possibly stashed something nasty enough to draw blood. "Right. On my mark. Cas, can you get me in?"

Castiel nods and grips Sam's upper arm.

"Three, two, one."

"We few, we happy, happy few."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There's blood gushing into Castiel's eyes and he's having trouble locating either Crowley or Sam but he's sure they're close because he can hear the cries of Monsters being dismembered one after the other after the other. " _Sam_."

It isn't Sam's hand that grasps the back of Castiel's coat but Crowley's, who yanks the Angel off his feet. "DUCK!"

Still unable to see a damned thing, Castiel _feels_ the blade slicing the air as it swings dangerously close to his head before he hits the concrete floor with a sickening thud.

Swiping a coat sleeve across his eyes Castiel finally sees Crowley whose face is one big purple bruise; lips split, eyes swollen almost shut, cheek clearly fractured. "Where is Sam?"

"I save your pansy pious arse and all you're worried about is that giant great tos - _watch out_."

Crowley rolls sideways away from Castiel as a Wendigo slams it's giant fetid clawed foot down where the Demon's head was laying  just seconds ago

" **Crowley**."

For all their bitching and backbiting there is clearly a connection between the Angel and the Demon. Perhaps it's simply that Crowley without Sam, Dean and Castiel would be _bored as bollocks_ , but Castiel isn't willing to pick at those threads. Not when he can't find Sam and Crowley's only just holding up his end. "Move. Now."

Scrabbling for a hand hold, Castiel stumbles towards Crowley and grabs his collar. Dragging him to his feet they both make for the closest door, assuming that's what Sam's done.

Just making it through the door before another hulking great creature throws itself at them, Crowley and Castiel slam their backs against the steel as it jangles and rattles behind them.

" **MOOSE**."

"Stop that."

"How exactly were you planning on finding him, then?"

"Give me a moment I will try and sense him."

"You can do that?"

"Can you not?"

"Smug bastard."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel treads carefully, motioning for Crowley to do the same. "Quiet."

Crowley rolls his eyes and Castiel is struck by just how childish the Demon is, for a creature well passed its bicentennial years.

Shaking his head, Castiel closes his eyes and reaches out with his mind, tapping gently at the edges of the souls surrounding them.

Werewolf. Witch. Rugaru. Shape Shifter. _Sam_ and **Dean**.

Castiel snatches at Crowley's coat sleeve and takes off running. "Got them!"

" _Them_?"

The Demon and Angel slide ungracefully around a corner and come face to face with a sobbing Sam.

Curled around what Castiel can only assume is Dean - or what's left of Dean - is Sam, whose shoulders are shaking violently as he desperately tries to get his brother to open his eyes. "Dean, _Dean_. Please. Wake up. Come on, come back."

A feeling of pure horror passes silently between Castiel and Crowley as Castiel takes a step forward. "Sam...move aside."

Usually at this point Crowley would be cracking wise, but the sheer force of devastation leeching out of Sam's pores is affecting him in a way he's never felt before. Castiel can tell from the look of rage hovering over the Demon's features that he's not okay with this end to Dean Winchester.

His voice is far more gentle than usual as Crowley kneels down beside Sam. "Let us work, Moose."

Castiel would normally have ripped Crowley away from the prone Dean and the falling apart Sam, but he's already figured out what the Demon wants to try.

Stepping up next to Sam's still hunched and shuddering shoulders, Castiel lightly pushes him to one side. "It will be okay. I promise."

As one, Castiel and Crowley lower themselves over Dean's unmoving body. Palms out flat, both beings lean forward and touch finger tips.

Sam's all but lost; Castiel can hear the hacking coughs of grief emanating from the broken man still awkwardly cradling Dean's head.

A blinding white light forces it's way from Castiel's palms just as an oily thick red smoke seeps from Crowley's hands. Pulling back ever so slightly they make a complicated gesture with their fingers and the two substances mingle together to form one roiling mass of cloying smoke that sparks as it shifts in the air around them.

Sam finally looks up from Dean's withered body and gasps, forcing Castiel to turn away from Crowley and look him right in the eyes. "Just wait, and keep calm, it _will_ be okay."

Castiel senses Sam's almost deathly calm, and is not for the first time afraid to take on the mantle of the man who can fix something unfixable, but he won't let either Sam or Dean down, not now.

"Ready?"

Crowley nods and flicks his wrists so his palms lay out flat facing the ceiling.

There's a deafening high pitched keening sound whistling through the air as the mist surrounds Dean's body.

Something inside Castiel's head _pops_ and he's sliding sideways. Before consciousness is lost to him, he hears the sudden and violent intake of breath from the body laying flat on cold, grimy concrete.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel is being dragged from the darkness by a sound so terrifying even he doesn't know what to make of it.

As his eyes adjust to the gloom in the room he sees Sam, stood proud and tall, shoulders squared and arms up in front of his body.

In the far corner laying in a heap next to a hyperventilating and very much thankfully _alive_ Dean, is Crowley, who's shirt has been ripped open exposing his oddly hairy chest and nipples.

Between his nipples is a clearly human bite mark with blood still oozing from it.

Too late, Castiel realises what the sound splitting his ear drums is.

Piled three deep in front of Sam are the bodies of various creatures all crumpled and hollowed out, guts and viscera are strewn across the floor, coating Sam's boots and jean hems, as a trickle of blood drips from his nose.

" _SAM_. **NO**."

The power curdling the air is oppressive and painful. It flattens Castiel and Crowley, making it impossible for either of them to get to Sam. The only one who appears to be able to move freely is Dean, but he's the last person Castiel wants Sam looking at.

If Sam lays eyes on Dean's emaciated form right now he'll destroy the entire building. "Sam Winchester. _Look_ **_at_** **me**."

Hair flying wildly about his face, eyes wide and deep _deep_ black, Sam turns and looks at Castiel. "I can't stop."

Those three words fill Castiel with such fear, but he knows he has to do something or the ceiling will come down on them all. "Let me up."

There's a snap in the air and Castiel can move, just. It's like wading through treacle but he forces himself off the floor and drags his heavy body towards the man now knee deep in death.

The closer he gets to Sam the harder it is to lift his feet and he's reduced to literally sliding himself across the room until finally he lays hands on Sam's shoulders.

The power emanating from Sam's skin pushes through his clothes and burns Castiel's palms but he uses every last drop of strength he has to yank Sam off his feet.

Sam's head comes into contact with the floor, making a disgusting cracking sound, and his eyes drift shut.

As darkness claims Sam, Castiel falls across his chest, heaving for breath. It's only then that he realises Crowley is stood above them both.

"We need to get them both out of here, now. Company's coming."

A cavalcade of Demons is not what either of them need right now, so Castiel takes a deep breath and lifts himself off Sam. "You take him, I've got Dean."

Castiel turns to the hollowed out face of his best friend and finds himself shocked and horrified beyond words. Eyes sunken, body wasted away, Dean's a shadow.

Castiel stumbles towards Dean and the man on the floor scurries backwards until he's pressed tightly against the wall, shaking his head so violently that spittle flies from his slackened lips.

Castiel holds up his hands in supplication and clicks his fingers before motioning for Crowley to do the same.

Both Dean and Sam disappear as the Angel and Demon zap out of sight as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel is at a complete loss as to what to do. Neither Winchester wants his help, too proud or broken, but he can't walk away.

They've been back in the Bunker three days; Crowley, as always, has vanished off the face of the Earth, not that the Angel needs to be dealing with his kind of attitude whilst still trying to figure out how to fix Sam and Dean.

Sam is a mess of conflicting emotions and withdrawal. Despite the fact that he only drank a small amount of Crowley's blood, he _was_ the King of Hell, and the Crossroads, and he's a damn sight more powerful than Joe Bloggs Demon Dude.

The come down off that is hell on wheels and Sam's feeling every single second of it. Castiel genuinely had to pull him down off the ceiling that first night because he'd drifted off in Dean's room and had managed _somehow_ to float himself into the rafters.

As for Dean, the sight of him makes Castiel feel physically sick, so God knows what it's doing to Sam whilst he tries to fight the effects of his addiction.

Dean's face hasn't so much changed shape but shrunk, his cheeks are hollow and his eyes are protruding from their sockets where the weight he usually carries has dropped off him. His body is literally a shadow of it's former glory, and he's covered in what can only be described as sores from laying on cold mildew covered concrete for six weeks straight.

It's clear that the creatures holding him kept having to put smaller shackles on his ankles because he's got four distinct sets of metal burn friction marks circling his legs.

Dean's incapable of physical contact, much to Sam's desperation, because all he clearly wants to do is hold him, just to make sure he really is alive and home.

The absolute worst thing of all though; Dean's voice is gone.

His distinctive laugh, his sarcastic snorts, his ability to make absolutely everything sound filthy - all gone.

He opens his mouth, when he can face looking at the sadness in his brother's eyes, and nothing comes out but air.

Castiel can see every time Dean tries and fails to speak the rage in Sam bubbles up to the surface and he has to remind him that right now losing it in front of Dean will only make things worse. Which Sam obviously knows, but where his brother is concerned there is _no_ common sense. Not when he's been hurt so badly and Sam can't kick a single ass in revenge.

Sam is currently sleeping, fitfully, but his eyes are closed and Castiel can sense the slight lessening of the pain and guilt weighted around his neck. The Angel takes the opportunity to try and communicate with Dean, who's still stubbornly refusing to allow anyone but Sam near him for more than ten minutes at a time.

"Dean?"

The air filled huff and shrugging of skinny shoulders indicates that Dean knows Castiel is there, so he forges on, keeping a watchful eye on Sam as he slumbers in the corner, propped up in a chair.

"Dean, please. You cannot ignore me forever."

Reaching out for the pen and pad Sam's left next to his bed, Dean scrawls out a message before throwing it at Castiel.

_I can try_

Castiel rolls his eyes and sits down on the bed next to Dean.

The rapid movement of thin limbs exposing bones which should _not_ be visible through skin as Dean scuttles up the bed away from the Angel, makes Castiel almost gag, but he bites it back. "Why are you avoiding me?"

Dean snatches the pad from Castiel's fingers and viciously scribbles his reply.

The words on the page make Castiel so very ashamed but he can't deny there is a truth in them.

_You only see the horror, Sam sees me. He can't help but see me. I'm more than muscles and body fat to him. I'm a... god, I can't believe I'm writing this, but I'm a soul, he loves my soul. You just see the pain and I can't stand seeing it reflected in your eyes._

Castiel hangs his head and sighs, knowing that honesty is possibly not the best policy, but Dean needs to know he isn't averse to the man's condition. "It is not horror, it is guilt. I feel like I let this happen by not being able to find you. I know Sam feels it too, but his love for you transcends the need to hide away in a corner and pretend he cannot see all of this."

Reaching out once more for the pad, Dean's face shows comfort under the frustration, which only serves to make Castiel feel worse.

_Cas, buddy, I'm not your responsibility, I'm your family. Guilt has no place in this family or we'd never feel anything but. Just, let me be for now. Sammy's here._

Castiel rests the pages back on the bed and steps away, still facing Dean. "Let him help you properly then. I know you still will not allow him to see you unclothed, or touch you, which for you two is just unnatural. You cannot keep yourself healthy without his help. Remember that."

The not-so-subtle comment on their personal habits isn't lost on Dean, which Castiel knows will bring up more questions than answers, but he still gets a small kick out of the horrified and embarrassed look that flits across his friend's features as he turns and walks away. It reminds him of the **real** Dean, the one he wants back.

"Chuck does not care who you get _jiggy_ with, Dean, he just cares that you are happy."


	2. Part Two

Castiel senses Sam’s presence before hearing heavy trudging footsteps shuffling into the library. He turns, knowing the sight of his friend in such a state will only add to the guilt he’s feeling about Dean’s continuing condition, but the Angel can’t bring himself to look away. “Sam, you really must try and eat something. Get some sleep. Anything but keep walking the halls in a daze.”

Sam doesn’t appear to even have the energy to lift his head as he lowers himself down onto the leather couch. “How am _I_ meant to sleep when all I can hear is Dean thrashing about in **his**.”

“At least he is resting.”

It takes a second for the scent in the air to register, but as soon as Castiel realises he can smell Sam’s tears he’s out of his chair and sitting beside the Hunter.

Once perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch cushions, Castiel doesn’t really know _what_ to say or do, just that he wishes he could crawl inside Sam and heal his pain the way he would a broken bone or bruised muscle. “Is there anything I can -”

“No, not unless you can fix Dean’s voice and make him look less like an Auschwitz victim.”

Castiel’s been weighing up the options for days, trying to work out if the offer of helping Dean heal would be a wise one. “Sam I _could_ heal Dean.” Sam’s head whips round and his eyes blaze with hope. “ **But** despite how badly his body is damaged, I think his mind is in more danger of collapse if I **_do_**.”

The fury with which Sam launches himself from his seat almost throws Castiel onto the floor. “WHAT? You’ve gotta be kidding me. You’d rather watch him suffer than risk his mental state?!”

“Sam, please. Hear me out. Dean’s loss of voice, his reluctance to be touched, it all stems from something buried deep within his psyche. The physical abnormalities of his weight loss will eventually right themselves, and in allowing the proper time for that healing, his mind _should_ follow suit. If we bypass the time needed for him to regain proper strength, his mind may always be stuck in this never ending loop of fear and self loathing.”

Sam’s anger has dissipated slightly, but Castiel can see his brain turning something over and over until he finally allows his fists to uncurl themselves.

“I remember… When Dean was really small, just after Mom… Dad told me something -”

Castiel shoots Sam a sympathetic glance and motions for him to sit down. “Dean was a mute.”

“How did you -”

“I’ve been watching your family for decades. We all have.”

Sam’s clearly uncomfortable at the idea of the entire of the heavenly host taking a quick peek into his family’s life whenever they were bored. “ _All?_ ”

“Your parents were predestined, Sam. Before I knew what free-will tasted like, I simply followed orders. As did the other Angels.”

Castiel’s learned enough about humanity to know what shame feels like, and despite the hollow void between his mind and actual emotions, the Angel can still understand their core meanings.

It’s most definitely shame he feels as Sam leans slightly away from him, but Castiel forges on.. “I watched Dean lose his voice, lose himself. The death of your Mother hit him hard, and for such a small boy to grasp such a _big_ thing... he retreated into himself. I think that is what he is doing now.”

“I remember Dad saying that Dean just shut down. He was such an inquisitive little thing apparently, always wanting to know how things worked and what the world was all about. Dad’s vendetta against the creeping darkness was partly fuelled by Dean’s lack of laughter, I think.”

Castiel can do nothing to assuage the pain of the past, but he can help hold together the future the boys are still fighting for. “Dean needs to allow himself time to heal, all of him, body and mind. If we cheat his body out of the process then we cheat his mind out of it too. He needs to see himself getting better in order for the cracks in his psyche to mend. His voice will return, it just cannot be forced.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sounds coming from the bathroom are positively devastating; Castiel tries and fails to block out the noises making his heart ache. There's no real voice to the sounds just large inhales and exhales of air as Sam pleads and begs with Dean to allow him to clean his wounds.

"I know you're hurting, I know you don't want me to see you like this, but I _have_ to clean you up."

A violent bang sounds and Castiel knows that Sam's head has made contact with the tiled wall of the shower.

" _Fuck_. Please. Dean. They need seeing to, I don't _care_ what you look like."

Castiel is torn between wanting to help and knowing that both brothers will kill him stone dead if he even so much as thinks about stepping into the bathroom. Instead he hovers outside the door, hoping he's not needed to restrain Dean.

Sam suddenly comes storming from the room only to be met with the guilty eyes of one Angel who doesn't know where to put his face. "I... Sorry... I just..."

Sam smiles sadly and walks past Castiel into his room and back out again clutching a notepad and pen to his chest. Placing his finger to his lips he nods at Castiel once and whispers. "Stay."

Sam leaves the door slightly ajar as he re-enters the bathroom and Castiel can hear rustling paper.

"Talk to me."

The sounds of scribbling waft through the crack in the door and Castiel leans ever so slightly closer.

“I can’t help you if you won’t let me touch you, Dean. It’s just me. I can’t imagine what it must have been like having no one lay hands on you for all that time, but this is _us_. We have to try.”

More rustling of paper and the distinct sound of pages being violently ripped to pieces and Castiel’s not sure how much more of this he can take.

“Fine, look, I’ll get in with you, okay?”

The shower starts and steam escapes round the door, fogging up Castiel’s line of sight along the hallway. He doesn’t need to be able to see into the room to know what’s happening now and he finds himself backing away ever so slowly as clothing drops to the floor.

The last thing he hears as he steps from the hallway onto the upper stair is Sam’s agonised voice groaning as he sees for the first time what his brother’s body looks like completely devoid of clothing.

Castiel has nothing but admiration for the youngest Winchester as his final statement comes drifting down the hallway.

“Dean, Jesus, now I’m really pissed, they stole your ass.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been a month and Dean's finally able to move around the bunker alone, or unsupported, but Sam won't actually let that happen. The youngest Winchester is never more than four feet from his brother at any waking moment of the day, and they sleep in the same room, regardless of Dean's ability to maintain any kind of physical relationship.

Castiel distinctly remembers the phrase. "Over my dead body, Dean." when asked if they could take a trip to the local bar.

In Sam's defence Castiel probably would have vetoed that just as vehemently.

Dean's still completely incapable of any kind of speech. He's become quite proficient at hand gestures though, most of which make Castiel blush like a schoolgirl, and all of which make Sam howl with laughter.

The white board Sam bought Dean as a gag gift to hang around his neck was violently tossed back at the gifter, only for said gifter to duck and have it hit Castiel square in the forehead. How is it possible that he always ends up in agony because of these two?

Crowley's _popped_ in, well outside the door, once or twice, only to be told by Castiel that Sam can't be in the same room as him, as it makes his mouth water. Which is just disturbing for all involved.

Sam's addiction is under control, mostly, but he can apparently scent the Demon from fifty yards away and he's not willing to risk his sobriety for half an hour's worth of sarcasm and insults.

Sam's quietly told Castiel to inform Crowley that he is very grateful for the help, offered and taken, but that's as far as his gratitude extends - passed messages.

Castiel actually felt bad for the Demon when he relayed that particular comment from Sam, and found himself sitting in a bar with Crowley nursing a funny coloured alcoholic beverage with an umbrella in it. Castiel has yet to inform either Winchester that he's now officially apparently Crowley's _wing_ man, not worth the absolute mirth at his expense.

Castiel is curled into one of the comfy chairs in the library whilst Sam reads to Dean. Having spent a lot of time away from the brothers over the years, he's always missed these little moments of affection that seem so simple and easy. They're always accompanied by sarcasm and a sense of friendship, but they are, with no better way to explain them, pure joy to witness.

"Dean, stop kicking the book."

Dean scribbles something on a spare piece of paper and hands it to Sam before laughing silently.

The act of laughter never really occurred to Castiel until he'd witnessed Dean doing it without being able to make a sound.

The body shakes, the eyes light up, the lips twist into a rictus of fun, and it's actually quite beautiful, if a little disturbing when seen for the first time.

Sam scans the page Dean's just dumped in his lap before shaking his head and chuckling. "No, we can't do _that_ instead. Your sores are still fragile."

Castiel clears his throat and smirks before opening 'The Wizard of Oz'.

"Speaking of, bath time."

Dean doesn't need to write anything down to show his distaste at that idea, but Sam’s not going to take no for an answer and slides his legs off the couch. “Come on, grumpy. Not long and we won’t need to bathe them any more. They’re almost healed, another week and you’ll be back in baby smooth skin order.”

The snort Castiel hears coming from Dean’s side of the couch is welcome, and a balm on the stresses of the last few months. It’s only as Sam’s voice rises beyond canine hearing levels that Castiel realises what the big deal is.

He _heard_ Dean snort.

“Do it again.”

Castiel’s entranced as he watches Sam sit cross legged at Dean’s feet _willing_ sound to come from his brother’s mouth.

Dean, for his part, is sitting on the edge of the couch cushions, fingers gripping tightly at his knees, mouth gaping open, tongue waggling from side to side.

Castiel forces himself as far back in his chair as physically possible and leaves the brothers to their moment of triumph and frustration, knowing that being allowed to witness it is enough without poking his fat angelic nose in the middle of it.

As Dean’s teeth gnash together and Sam comes up on his haunches to get as close to Dean’s mouth and throat as he can without actually climbing into his brother’s lap, there’s the faintest hint of a squeak. The tiniest noise which elicits the biggest response from both the boys.

Dean leaps from the couch into Sam’s waiting outstretched arms and Castiel _blinks_ away just as their lips meet.

No need to draw attention to himself by actually walking out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First Hunt out with Dean by their sides in over six months and neither Castiel nor Sam can stop fidgeting. Two sets of eyes follow him wherever he wanders and they can tell he’s about to start throwing punches, but they can’t bring themselves to stop.

The quality of Dean’s voice isn’t fully restored, it’s a little like burnt paper rustling in the breeze, but it’s recovered enough that he can impart his annoyance quite clearly. “Stop _it_.” and just to reiterate the level of frustration he’s feeling he sideswipes both Sam and Castiel in one swift open palmed slap to the back of their heads.

Sam only catches the edge of Dean’s thumb but Castiel’s hit full force with the ball of his hand and his ears ring as he rubs absentmindedly at the abused spot. “Was there any need for violence, Dean?”

Dean smirks before grabbing his gun from the trunk of the car. “There’s always a need for violence, it’s what we do.”

Sam chuckles and walks away, leaving Castiel to mumble under his breath about ungrateful Hunters and their need for physical contact.

Still griping good naturedly, Dean and Castiel step up beside Sam as he scans the wooded area for what they think is a low level infestation of werewolves. A pack of no more than three and young at that, so not much work to dispatch.

Castiel can see Sam’s struggling with the idea that Dean will be out here alone at some point, but he also knows that if he’s ever going to regain his full strength Dean needs to get back to his usual activities.

From the sounds filtering through the walls of the Bunker late at night, the brothers have already resumed all physical contact, now it’s just the job they need to get a handle on.

Castiel motions that he’s going to step left into a copse of trees being bathed in moonlight,  as Dean motions in the opposite direction, leaving Sam to stand idly in the center of the clearing waiting for anything that shakes loose.

He knows he should be focusing on the shadows around him, but Castiel can’t help straining to hear Sam and Dean. Keeping an ear on whatever might be about to befall them in all it’s slathering, growling glory.

Dean isn’t quite up to fighting weight still, which obviously makes him lighter on his feet and sometimes, like now, that’s a blessing, but Castiel doesn’t want his recovery knocked back too far if he can’t quite handle what’s out here. The Angel knows if Dean ever _heard_ his thoughts on the subject he’d get his ass handed to him, but that doesn’t stop him worrying.

Castiel crouches down behind a giant tree root and waits out the sounds of the night, hoping to catch a waft of something unnatural to the space. It’s then that he hears it. A sound like someone being caught in a wire snare; a sharp snap and twang followed by a howl so blood curdling his skin almost creeps off his bones.

“ _Sam_ , **Dean**.”

Castiel flies from the copse at a speed impressive even for him and is met by a horrifying sight, one which will be burned into the backs of his eyeballs for ever.

Dean’s grappling with a female werewolf, holding his own for now, stomping over the decapitated heads of her two pack members. Laying in amongst the mess of blood and spinal fluid is Sam; shirt shredded, what used to be his chest now an ugly gaping wound, with bones and sinew on show for all the world to see.

It’s not like the Angel to swear, but it’s an instinct he’s picked up from both the Winchesters. Reiteration by exclamation is how Sam once described it. “What the _fuck_ happened?!”

As he hollers the question Castiel steps over Sam’s squirming form and puts a silver bullet dead center of the still breathing werewolf’s forehead. He never was a great shot but fear can do funny things to a person’s skill level.

Before bending to check on Sam, Castiel spins on the spot and unloads his entire clip into the bodies and heads on the floor.

Satisfied no one’s going to jump up and bite him in the ass, Castiel throws himself down beside Dean who’s now desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from the wound which is quivering, like a gurning mouth. “What the hell happened? You two were out of sight for five minutes.”

Dean’s practically growling out his answers as he tears all the clothes from his top half to shove into the mess that was once Sam’s chest. “They set a **fucking** trap. I caught one in the bushes over there, Sam ran to my rescue and he triggered some kind of wire mechanism. Barbed wire covered block swung straight out of the trees overhead. I couldn’t get to him, I saw it happening and I couldn’t fucking get to him.”

Sam’s barely moving now, blood loss and broken bones serving to sap any remaining strength from his body. Between them Castiel and Dean manage to haul him into their outstretched arms, linked at the wrists by grasping fingers, like a living stretcher.

Every single jostle elicits a mewling agonising sound from Sam that runs Castiel’s blood completely cold. Ice in his veins forcing out any warmth.

The scent of Sam’s blood and the feel of it trickling thickly across his outstretched wrists is making Castiel gag but he knows Dean’s just about keeping a hold on his anger and fear as it is. “Come on, we have to get him to a hospital, now. **CROWLEY**.”

Dean’s face shows a mix of relief and anger at Castiel calling the Demon, but he surely knows there’s no other option at this point. The car will be too slow and painful for Sam and Castiel can’t risk _blinking_ Sam out on his own.

Silently acquiescing to the idea, Dean lends his voice to Castiel’s.” _Crowley_. Don’t be a douchenozzle. Get your ass out here.”

There’s a sudden thickening of the air and an ozone taste at the back of Castiel’s throat, and then Crowley’s standing before them both, a look of annoyance clearly painted across his features. “You lot don’t even show the proper etiquette and _summon_ me anym - **bloody hell** what happened?”

“No time, help.”

Castiel can see the desperation in Dean’s croaky voice isn’t lost on the Demon and he steps in beside Dean, tangling his hands with the two sets still cradling Sam. “Hold on tight, boys. Dean, this is gonna sting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The nurses station at the local Emergency Room is a hive of activity; doctors run around frantically trying to scrub down as nurses and porters pull in the machinery and accoutrements required for a blood transfusion. In between the mess of bodies all slamming in around Sam is Dean, sitting perfectly still, hand grasping his brother’s so tight there’s practically no colour left in his fingers. Although Castiel’s not entirely sure that isn’t to do with the ever increasing pool of blood rapidly expanding out beneath the gurney he’s been laid on.

Castiel looks to Crowley who shakes his head _no_ , he can’t do anything now, not with this many people around. They’re just going to have to wait and hope.

“ _What_ **happened** , how did Moose end up looking like gazpacho?”

Castiel’s almost grateful to the Demon for his asinine tone of voice; it brings a sense of normality to the moment, despite this being anything _but_ normal.

“You are such a -” Castiel sighs, shaking his head.“It was a werewolf booby trap. Trip wire attached to a block of wood covered in jagged metal spikes.”

Crowley’s face shows an odd emotion, one the Angel hasn’t seen before, not hovering over _his_ features any way. It’s almost sorrow. At what Castiel has no clue. Perhaps the fact that Sam might die and it isn’t Crowley who can claim that conquest, maybe even because he does actually have a soft spot for both the Winchesters. Either way Castiel’s not going to poke that particular nest of ants.

Instead he turns his thoughts to what Crowley’s help will inevitably mean. “You will not take this out of their flesh, do you hear me? No payment owed from the Winchesters. Either of them.”

Crowley’s head snaps up and his eyes narrow to dangerous looking slits. “Wings, when I take payment it’ll be out of your arse, and believe me when I say I haven’t had chance to think of the inventive ways in which you can owe me one. Your precious boys are safe. For now.”

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief and refuses to acknowledge the tone of voice Crowley’s using, not whilst Dean’s face looks like he could either start smashing up the Emergency Room or sobbing like a little boy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam’s chest is bandaged so tightly in order to keep his muscle and sinew in place he can’t breathe on his own, which means he’s covered in wires and tubes and has an ugly looking iron lung attached to the side of his gurney.

Castiel’s been sitting unblinking, staring at it hiss and click for the last two hours whilst Dean fights the sleep that’s threatening to take him. Stubborn bastard won’t allow his eyelids to go passed half mast though and the Angel is inches away from smacking him in the head and knocking him out. “Dean, please. You are no good to your brother like this. You are still healing. If he comes round to find you having lost all your strength, I am for the high jump.”

Dean’s face shows the fatigue his body must be feeling as he turns to the Angel willing him to give in. “ _If_ he comes round, Cas, if.”

Castiel shakes his head and reaches out to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I can heal him once his body is strong enough to withstand the interference, but until then we just have to wait. He will be okay. I cannot do it here though, too many watchful eyes which means he has to breathe on his own before I can do anything.”

Right on cue Sam’s doctor walks into the room and clears his throat to announce his presence. “It’s not as bad as we first thought, Mr Campbell. The wounds to his chest aren’t as deep as they initially appeared and with a couple of skin grafts we should be able to cover over a lot of the damage. The blood your friend gave is working quite nicely. He must eat his wheaties, we’ve never seen anyone take three pints of plasma quite so easily.”

Castiel smirks behind his hand as Dean’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “You gave Sammy your blood?”

“I thought that a little grace might help. **ahem** Grace of the lord, that is, because of course we all hope he is on our side.”

Castiel sees the doctor looking between himself and Dean - the sleep deprived man and his crumpled companion - and knows he’s trying to work out what exactly is so funny about the poor man in the bed needing a little help from the almighty. “Well yes, of _course_. Any way, we’ll be able to move him off the artificial lung in the next few days. I want him grafted first. I’ll keep you posted.”

As the doctor leaves the room Dean bursts into fits of laughter. “Because of _course_ we all hope he is on our side! You dick, Cas. You are so not the world’s most subtle man, are you? This won’t... this won’t effect you will it, won’t hurt you giving away some of your grace?”

Castiel smiles warmly at Dean and shakes his head. “No. It’s metabolised grace. It’s already in my system. The core of my grace is safe, this is just overflow.”

Dean’s face shows relief and gratitude. “Good. Thank you.”

“However…”

“ _However_?”

Castiel grits his teeth and shimmies back on his seat, putting a little distance between himself and the Hunter now eyeing him suspiciously. “However, the grace may affect Sam.”

Castiel can tell Dean’s walking a very fine line between exploding with questions and keeping his mouth shut so as not to sound like an ungrateful child. Questions win out, as the Angel knew they would.

“How exactly will it **effect** him, Cas? Will he be sprouting feathers, or worse, a halo? He’s already a goody-two-shoes, I don’t need him acting all saintly! Gadreel left him with grace, that didn’t do anything to him, what makes _you_ so special?”

Well, Dean’s certainly feeling more himself if the acid tone is anything to go by and despite the insults and sarcasm, Castiel’s thankful for the normalcy. Sighing deeply, he attempts to explain in a way Dean will understand. “Gadreel possessed, or no, inhabited Sam and with that comes a small amount of grace transference. It is a natural byproduct of the process. No harm no foul. With the transfusion I have quite literally laced his veins with my own essence. Despite this body not being my own, it is imbued with my life force all the while I utilise it. Jimmy no longer exists. His soul was placed in heaven long ago, this is all me in here. So, in donating blood to Sam I have given him a source of grace that will not increase exponentially but it will continue to be present in his system until the day his blood stops flowing.”

Dean’s eyes cross as he tries to work out whether his brain can withstand the assault of information and Castiel feels extremely sorry for him; so tired, still healing, worried for his brother and now _this_.

“As fascinating as that little Angelic science lesson was, you didn’t answer my question, what will it **do** to Sammy?”

Attempting not to look too guilty, Castiel clasps his hands atop Sam’s sheets, absentmindedly running the pad of his thumb across the sleeping Hunter’s knee.

Dean clearly doesn’t miss the gesture and his face shows a strange commingling of surprise and thankfulness. He may finally understand that Castiel cares for Sam very deeply.

“Hang on, is your blood the reason he’s not as banged up as the doctors first thought?”

“Yes. Okay, here goes. Your brother will be slightly quicker to heal. His life force will be much more robust. He will possess the ability to _hear_ me the way I hear him when he prays directly to me. No other Angel can tap into your brother’s head, but we will be able to communicate. If I think towards him, he will receive the message. If I believed for one minute you would let me, I would pump you full of some of my blood too. It would make Hunting a whole lot easier. You and Sam could communicate without speech and there would no need to keep hollering his name every single Hunt.”

“I don’t holler his name _every_ **single** Hunt!”

“You kind of do.”

Dean’s face goes slack for a moment, vacant and empty. “ _Wait_ , how exactly could I hear him if you give me _your_ blood?”

Knowing the joke won’t be lost on Dean, and thinking it might just assuage some of the confusion and betrayal he’s feeling at the thought that Sam and he have some kind of connection, Castiel smirks and winks. “It would be a three-way, of sorts.”

Dean splutters and shakes his head. “ **What**?!”

Castiel decides to go for broke and make the actual offer. “Look, Dean. If I give you my blood, and he already has it, we, all three of us, would be connected via my grace. I would not be able to hear your thoughts unless either of you direct them at me, and the same would be true for Sam and yourself. _But_ you would gain all the attendant bonuses of having my grace circulating your system; quicker healing, stronger life force. The ability to communicate without speech. When your voice disappeared I briefly considered making the offer then, but knew you would both shout and smack me down.”

Sam shifts on the bed, the smallest of twitches in his legs and arms, but it draws all attention back to his slumbering form.

“Cas, later, okay? This conversation **is** to be continued.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The grafting has gone well, Sam’s body hasn’t gained an infection or rejected the new skin, but his donor section has an interesting looking scar forming. Something akin to Harry Potter’s zigzag mark. Much to Sam’s amusement and Dean’s total and utter bemusement.

Castiel didn’t quite understand the reference but when Dean said. _”There’s no end to your nerdery, is there, Sammy?”_ and Sam had laughed so hard he hurt his chest, the Angel figured it wasn’t anything he’d ever understand but was glad of the sound of Sam’s mirth.

It’s the day of Sam’s discharge from hospital and Dean’s been flitting around his room like a confused moth unable to find a light source.

Sam reaches out to his brother, waggling long fingers in his face as he fusses with Sam’s shirt buttons. “Dean, please, chill out. I’m just coming home, nothing major.”

“Sammy, you can’t begrudge a guy a little fidgett. It’s been a fuck of a year.”

The softness to Dean’s voice is slowly fading but there’s still a crackle in it when he’s emotionally strained. Castiel’s always very aware that the sound of it signals something personal about to be passed between the brothers and decides to go and retrieve himself a plastic cup of tepid tea from the quite frankly disgusting looking vending machine.

Before leaving the room, Castiel shoots Sam a quick message. _Be Kind._. And is gratified to hear Sam chuckle quietly. _Yes boss_.

Dean doesn’t miss the exchange because Sam’s face goes slightly slack whenever he’s communicating with Castiel. Knowing the reaction he’s about to get, the Angel steps quickly into the hallway.

“Hey, stop that, no passing notes in class.”

“If you’d just take him up on his offer then you wouldn’t feel like the **new** kid all the time.”


	3. Epilogue

_Holy crap!_

Castiel dodges out the way of a vampire about to sink dripping fangs into his neck and manages to pivot underneath the creature, taking it’s legs out in one swift move. _No need to sound so surprised, Dean. I do pay attention to you and your brother when we are in the middle of a fight._

Sam comes running out from behind a pile of rocks, being chased by two vampires trying to make a meal of him.

_Sammy, duck. Cas, CATCH!_.

Sam hits the deck, scraping up his chin and swallowing a mouthful of forest dirt, just as Dean throws his machete end over end at Castiel who plucks it neatly by the hilt from the air.

_Nice catch, Cas. Just don’t drop it this time._

“I really wish you two would not do that when I am trying to **focus**.”

Swinging the blade in a perfect arc, Castiel decapitates both vampires in one slick move before spitting what appears to be fang juice from his mouth. In unison his head rings with the gagging sounds of two Winchester both trying not to throw up.

“Seriously, you two, out loud.”

_Hey, you insisted on giving me the **gift** it’s not my fault if it’s way cool during a fight. Extra added bonus, I get to piss you off without hurting my voice._

“Get your brother under control, Sam. Please.”

_Since when have I ever been able to control Dean?_

As the trio begin to clean up leftover vampire parts and pile them in the center of the clearing, the trees hum with the sounds of one very aggravated Angel bitching about ungrateful annoying Hunters and their inability to shut the hell up when required.

“Next time you two decide to go and get yourselves killed I am _not_ saving you.”


End file.
